


The Negotiation

by CallousHeartz



Series: How Time Decides [2]
Category: Danger Days: The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys (Album), My Chemical Romance, The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys (Comic)
Genre: Gen, Second Encounter, Time For Round Two Babey!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-22
Updated: 2018-12-22
Packaged: 2019-09-25 00:09:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17110712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CallousHeartz/pseuds/CallousHeartz
Summary: “if i ever have to speak to you again, trust me when i say you will pay the price.”





	The Negotiation

Here's the thing about the desert, or so Ghoul's come to figure out: days come and go. Weeks come and go. Hell, _months_ come and go. And you can barely tell where one ends and the next begins - there's no way to distinguish between your own birthday and any regular Tuesday, and both are equally likely to be forgotten, moved on from without a second thought.

And, a lot of the time, faces work the same way.  
With his brain barely present half the time, his mind all but switched off as he asks directions from the fourth tumbleweed that day or trades his last few carbons for a half-empty bottle of water, faces are a blur.

It's a shame - sometimes Ghoul wishes people would stick around just long enough for him to pin their features up on his memory's wall, because a solid friend out here would be a real help at times. But part of him's wary of bonding; just ' cause you could trust them for five seconds last week, doesn't mean you can trust them forever.

So yeah - faces don't tend to stick. 

Well.. most of them, anyway.

It's probably a Saturday, mid-afternoon or thereabouts when Ghoul comes across a convenience store, and he realises this might just be the best day of his life - ok, _one_ of the best - because on this occasion, he's got just enough carbons in his pocket for one of those off-brand energy drinks which taste like bile and burnt plastic but work absolute wonders.  
He's only taken a sip of someone else’s before, but that single sip has been lingering on his wistful mind ever since.

So, drink in hand, internally blessing the elderly woman who paid him and some teal-haired girl five carbons each for fixing her tyres the other day, he approaches the till.

But as time passes and the queue shrinks, and the automatic doors part for the umpteenth time that day, Ghoul stops dead in his tracks. Another young man’s just walked in.

Still rooted to his spot, Ghoul watches the stranger with careful eyes. Because he's not sure he really _is_ all that much of a stranger.

There's something familiar about him, familiar in the way that makes Ghoul's throat constrict and sends a block of lead to the pit of his stomach. Maybe it's the scarlet-dyed hair spilling over his shoulders, or maybe it's the blatant arrogance in his stance. It's something, alright. 

A two-month-old fight pops up in Ghoul's mind, but he won't start jumping to conclusions quite yet.  
This is Zone 6. There are probably a ton of dudes out here with long, fuck-off bright red hair and postures that display to all just how far they are up their own arses. And this guy could be any one of them.

 _Wait 'til he turns his face,_ Ghoul tells himself, _then you'll know if it's time to get out._

Fortunately or not, Ghoul doesn't have to wait very long. 

It's like this guy has some sort of freaky power, like he's heard Ghoul's thoughts clear as spoken word, because he turns his head. And, as if by reflex, Ghoul looks down - but not so quickly that he doesn't get the chance to confirm that dreaded suspicion of his.

Yeah, it's him alright. 

Leader of the Killjoys: Poison.  
Highly punchable... but equally intimidating.

Is it time for Project Drop-the-Goddamn-Drink-and-Make-Run-For-It?

No, of course it isn't.  
Why should this scumbag’s mere presence stand between Ghoul and the drink that’s practically the yearned-for love of his life?  
That’s right; it shouldn't. And it won't. 

It isn't like Poison's been given a valid reason to start shit today, anyway.

But, as it turns out, he doesn't _need_ a valid reason. 

The first time the blood-haired fuck shoots Ghoul an unwarranted glare, he manages to restrain himself. 

Clenching his fist, yeah, but it works.

The second time the blood-haired fuck shoots Ghoul an unwarranted glare, he also manages to restrain himself. 

Gritting his teeth _and_ clenching his fist, yeah, but it works.

But the _third_ time - the third time that smug shithead in a leather jacket gives Ghoul the evils from across the store, he's reached the very end of his tether all too fast.

No more Mr Just-About-Civil Guy.

"You got a problem, eh?" Ghoul's voice comes out only a little louder than expected. 

He sets the can down on a shelf and turns fully to face Poison, eyes set in defiance. He can feel other customers pausing to watch, but his attention’s on one person only.

Poison's not surprised at the confrontation. Or, if he is, he does a good job of hiding it.  
He looks down his nose at Ghoul and smirks a little, but says nothing.

"Scared of wasting your breath, Poison?" Ghoul spits his name like it's dirt on his tongue.

"I ain't scared of shit," Poison hisses, flashing his teeth with the last syllable.

As Ghoul takes a step forward (unsure of what exactly he's about to do, but hey, improvisation is a thing) the person behind the counter intervenes.

"Hey, uh," They clasp their hands, smiling uncomfortably, "Not to get involved with, um.. whatever's going on, but I'm sensing a little tension over here and it'd be best for everyone if we kept that shit outside the store... y'know, safety and all that, um,"

Ghoul nods, mumbling an apology, then sends Poison a final look as he turns to the door.

"You can join me... if you got the guts," 

He exits before Poison has the chance to respond. It's not like he's genuinely expecting the coward to follow him.

Armed with new pride, Ghoul heads away from the store. It's about time he started looking for tonight's shelter, anyway. Earlier on he passed what appeared to be a slightly run-down shed, holes here and there but more than sufficient for one night-

"So you wanted to talk, huh?"

Ghoul's head turns at the sound of the rough voice.

"Me?” He shrugs. “Nah, there are ways I'd much rather waste my time, but it seems you have nothing better to do,"

Poison purses his lips,  
"You wanted to talk," He repeats, stepping forward, "So that's exactly what we're gonna do."

"Nah, I think I'm good now,"

He can see Poison trying to compose himself inside, and it almost makes him laugh. 

"I thought I made it pretty clear, after I found you treatin' my goddamn car like it was yours, that I didn't want to have t'waste another word on you," The Killjoy leader begins.

"And yet, here you are!” Ghoul grins, "Great work,"

Poison holds a hand up,  
"Just... shut your smart fucking mouth for one second, ok? Just listen, fucksake. If, for whatever reason, fate decides to be a bastard and I have to see you again, surrounded by other fuckin' people or not, you ain't to say a single word to me. I didn't want this bullshit today - I don't want this bullshit any day, I got enough of that comin' at me from more angles than you could handle in your damn dreams. So, if I ever have to speak to you again," His voice drops to a whisper now, and he steps forward, stony eyes narrowing, "Trust me when I say you _will_ pay the price."

He thrusts an accusatory finger in Ghoul’s direction, then turns away as if he doesn't require his agreement - he's said it, out in the open, so that's how it stands.

But it's not settled until Ghoul's offered his side of the bargain.

"Maybe if you can agree not to fuckin' glare at me every five seconds..."  
He trails off at the realisation that Poison's now out of earshot.

But it's fine - Ghoul's got more important things to worry about than keeping to a one-sided deal. 

So, watching his bright haired enemy stalk away, there's nothing on Ghoul's mind but the shelter he's gotta seek out for the night.  
Oh, and the drink he’s gotta go back for tomorrow.


End file.
